


God Given

by R00bs_Teacup



Series: hc bingo 2016 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Early Modern Era, F/F, Witchcraft, elyan/Arthur (background)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For hc bingo prompt 'witch hunt'. the Lady Gwenevere Smythe associates with the wrong people and is accused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Given

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/gifts).



> For the fabulous Early-Modern Lady Glim, duchess of all she surveys :)  
> WARNINGS: imprisonment, punishment, trials, stocks, torture

A witch trial: present

 

“You have been accused of witchcraft, theft, and coining.”

 

Gwen stares straight ahead. She hasn’t been asked a question, so she keeps quiet, just the way Arthur told her. She’s shaking, though, all through herself. 

 

“Very well. I shall make a note of your stubborn refusal to speak. You have been accused three times over, by your maid, and by a very highly respected gentleman, and by-”

 

“The gentleman in question, sir,” Gwen says, hotly, “is accusing me only because I could not accept his marriage proposal. He is well respected, but his station is below my own and he had nothing to offer my family. It was my father who refused, but it is I who he punishes.”

 

“It is not for him to decide your punishment. You have also been accused by a gentlewoman of the highest station and reputation.”

 

Gwen shakes her head, unable to offer a defence other than ‘it’s not true’. 

 

“Let’s move on to the theft, for now.”

 

It goes on for a long time. Uther Pendragon is a hard, cruel man, but a thorough and conscientious magistrate. He likes his witchcraft trials to be watertight before he hands them over to the ‘incompetent courts’. Gwen knows that she stands little chance, even with help, of not ending up before the judge at the Old Bailey, the mirror glaring sunshine into her eyes, right over her head to illuminate her face. 

  
  


strange powers: (two years) past

 

_ She has powers from the devil. _

 

The whisper goes around the gathering. Lady Gwenevere turns her head to look first at her father and brother, then, on finding them paying her no attention, towards the woman who just walked in eliciting the shiver of gossip. She’s white as silk, as the snowberries that grow in the hedge outside in the summer. No, Gwen thinks, she’s like apple-blossom. Her cheeks have a faint hint of pink, and her lips. Her eyes find Gwen’s, and she tilts her head like a bird, and raises an eyebrow. Her face, otherwise, doesn’t move. Like marble. Gwen can see how she got her reputation.

 

“My daughter, the lady Gwenevere. It is she who tells me what fashionable women will wear, and helps me craft the jewellery you are kind enough to compliment,” her father says, drawing her attention back to the people she’s sitting with. 

 

“Her grace Morgana Pendragon-Gorlois, Duchess of Cornwall, marchioness of Winchester,” the footman announces. 

 

There’s a second stir, and then a third when the company realise how late this announcement has come, how breathless the footman is: her grace is already in the centre of the room, looking around, and the footman is panting. As if her grace swept right in without waiting for the servants to get themselves together and bring her. Gwen likes that. She rises from her seat and goes to take her grace’s hand. 

 

“Your grace,” Gwen says. “Welcome to Wilton. Lord and Lady Herbert are away, but have been kind enough to host us in absentia. They have left me to play hostess.”

 

“And you are?” 

 

“Gwenevere.”

 

“ _ Lady _ Gwenevere Smythe,” Elyan says, appearing insistently at her shoulder. 

 

“Well,  _ Lady _ Gwenevere Smythe, might I have a drink?” her grace says. 

 

Gwen turns on her brother, getting a sharp dig into his ribs, then waves one of the maids over with a tray of drinks. Elyan nudges her in return and sits himself at their father’s side again. Gwen takes two glasses from the tray, passing one to the duchess, taking her elbow and guiding her from the group of men, all of whom are watching with rather too much closeness the fit of the duchess’s dress. Gwen sits at the harp, and the duchess perches beside her. 

 

“Do you play,  _ Lady _ Gwenevere?” 

 

“Do stop. Gwen will be fine, it’s what everyone usually calls me. Only my father has business people here today, so ‘lady’ is being loudly spoken and often.”

 

“Gwen. Morgana, in that case.”

 

Gwen smiles, and runs her hands over the strings, scales and arpeggios while she thinks of something to play. Thinks, rather, of what Morgana might like. Then, she changes her mind, and turns for the viol, deciding on Lawes. She plays one of the viol consorts, and tells Morgana of the time she met William Lawes. Morgana seems enamoured of the music, but bored by the conversation. 

 

“Are you a witch?” Gwen asks, grinning.

 

“Not the way they believe,” Morgana says. “I didn’t sell my soul to the devil for my powers. They were given to me by God.”

 

Gwen feels a strange tingle, a warmth. Morgana looks amused, when Gwen looks at her. Morgana reaches out and gently pushes the hair off Gwen’s neck, away from her shoulder, tracing a pattern there. Her eyes flicker, as Gwen watches, playing on by instinct, paying no attention to the music, to anything but the feel of Morgana’s fingers on her skin. There’s something happening, the room fading around them, the music swirling up around them. 

 

Then the door opens again, the footman announcing Arthur, and Morgana pulls her hand away. Gwen goes back to playing, the room comes back into focus. Arthur moves to Elyan and they meet in a shy, painful moment of trying not to touch or speak openly. Then Arthur comes to her, sitting beside Morgana. 

 

“Good afternoon, your grace,” Arthur says, taking Morgana’s hand and pressing a kiss. “My father sends his regards.”

 

“He does not. He hasn’t seen me in the past week, so he has therefore forgotten my existence. As I prefer it. Why am I here?” Morgana says. 

 

“You know one another?” Gwen asks, bow moving smoothly over the strings, eyes on the room, her guests. 

 

“We grew up with one another,” Arthur says. “That’s him, Morgana.”

 

“Oh?” Morgana says. “Is he your brother, Gwen?”

 

“Elyan? Yes. He’s the one who made you call me ‘lady’,” Gwen says, eyes moving to him. 

 

He’s watching Arthur, instead of engaging their father and their guests. Gwen makes two mistakes in the music in quick succession and Elyan’s eyes shift to her. She raises her eyebrows, and lets her eyes slide Arthur’s way. Elyan tugs his ruff and turns away. 

 

“He’s very handsome,” Morgana says. “Protective of his sister. Though I believe he irritates her as much as you do me.”

 

“Impossible!” Arthur says, and laughs boisterously, drawing attention. “No one can be as irritable as you, my dear. You approve, though?”

 

“Wholeheartedly, if he’s as charming as his sister.”

 

“Do not, I am begging you, invite her to Tintagel. Elyan would not approve, and would perhaps not forgive me,” Arthur says. 

 

“I merely put on plays,” Morgana says. “I have invited a friend of mine down to put on her version of Marlowe’s ‘Tragical History of Doctor Faustus’, Gwen. She has woven Medea into it, and it is quite something to see. Would you like to come to Cornwall with me? I will be returning to London, after this stay, for a month or two. I have business. But then I will be returning home, and would welcome your company.”

 

“I would very much like that,” Gwen says, drawing her music to a close and putting the instrument away. “Arthur, is it still raining?”

 

“No, the sun has decided to show his face.”

 

“Then we might walk in the gardens. There is a beautiful water feature, and a bridge that you all must see,” Gwen says, getting to her feet. “Elyan! Would you escort us in the gardens? Arthur is taking Morgana, won’t you be as good a brother as he?”

 

Elyan gets up with a token protest, bowing to their company with a resigned smile. She goes to take his arm, and waits for her maid to bring her cloak. They walk four a-breast for a while, until they are far enough to be out of sight of the house. Then Arthur and Elyan break away, an arm around one another. Innocent enough, if caught, for intimate friends such as they, and intimate enough for Arthur to bow his head and press affectionate kisses to Elyan’s neck. 

 

“Arthur has had many lovers,” Morgana says, watching them wander ahead. “It is rare for him to want me to meet them.”

 

“What was it you did to me, in there? Was it a drug?” Gwen asks, linking her arm with Morgana. 

 

“No. It was a trick, nothing more. Don’t worry, I will keep your soul from the devil. Faustus is a mere fiction.”

 

Gwen laughs at herself for being fanciful. 

 

Morgana stays a month, and departs when Gwen does. They spend their time with their brothers, wandering the grounds, playing music, talking. At the end of their stay, Gwen returns to her father’s estate, while Morgana goes to London with Arthur and Elyan. Gwen promises to visit Morgana at Tintagel in four months time, and travels with a light heart. Her father notices her good mood, and is wonderfully affectionate with her, as if she is small once more and his little girl. 

 

Her joy lasts a week. Then she begins getting letters from Elyan. First just a missive telling her she mustn’t go to Cornwall quite as soon as she planned. Then, when Gwen writes back to tell him she’ll do as she wishes, the letters become increasingly firm. By the end of the first month they are full of dire warnings and anger, demanding she heed him and stay home. She stops writing back. This only means Elyan writes to their father, instead. 

 

“Gwennie, I know you like the duchess, but I cannot allow you to visit,” Tom says, one evening, sitting by the fire with her. 

 

His face is grave. He’s not like Elyan, not hot-headed, or young, or over-protective. He’s given Gwen as much education as Elyan, given her free reign in his library. She manages his estates and buys his horses, she helps him decide where to invest his money, who to patronise, what property to buy. He tells company that she tells him of current styles, but she spends as much time in the factories and workshops he owns as he. He gives her respect and courtesy, and so she extends the same to him. 

 

“I will listen to you, father. I do not promise to heed you, but I will listen,” Gwen says, focusing on her needle work. 

 

“The duchess has a reputation for witchcraft. Her guardian is Uther Pendragon, Duke of York, and her brother is an Earl in his own right, as well as having claim to the duchy of Cornwall, from his mother. The duchess owes her title to her father, who took the land. She is very powerful, wherever that power comes from. I do not want you on the wrong side of that power.”

 

“I will be on the right side of it,” Gwen says. 

 

“Perhaps. She has a reputation for witchcraft, Gwennie. The colour of your skin already opens you up to such accusations. I am afraid for you, if you associate yourself with her. I am afraid that you may be forced to withdraw that association, at some point. And then you will be on the wrong side of all that power, and you will carry with you forever the taint of that association, that suspicion.”

 

“She doesn’t deserve it,” Gwen says. 

 

“No, but the world is not fair.”

 

“I will still go to Cornwall, father.”

 

“I was afraid of that. However, I allow it. If you are going anyway, you will be safer with my blessing, and my protection. Will you, at the least, take Elyan with you? And Arthur, if the earl will go.”

 

“I will take them,” Gwen says. “Arthur will come, if I ask it of him. He owes me a favour.”

 

“My Gwennie. You are as powerful as any. I often forget how many friends you have made, how much influence you hold. I never wanted more than this land, for myself, for my son. I never sought advancement. You have gained the ear of the Countess of Pembroke, gone to court and spoken with King James himself, you have met poets and musicians. You may go, with my blessing, and my trust, daughter.”

 

When Tom tells Elyan of his decision, Gwen manages to be present, and smile broadly at Elyan the entire time. Elyan scowls and argues and gesticulates, then goes to pack his things back up and ready to depart once more. He writes a brief note to Arthur. By the end of the week they are traveling, on their way to Cornwall. Gwen feels excitement rise in her, her heart beating against her corsets. 

 

They do not go straight to Tintagel. Instead, they go to Trerice, an estate under the Baron of Trerice. The baron’s wife, Arthur tells Gwen as they approach, is mother to a sister of Morgana. The barony was created for him. Elyan looks tight and uncomfortable, as Arthur explains all of this. 

 

“No one will ever know he’s a baron. He got his barony for selling his soul to the devil,” Elyan snaps. 

 

Arthur sits back and shrugs. Gwen waits for an explanation. 

 

“It is true that no one is aware of the title, save the royal family. My father told me the story,” Arthur says. “The Arundells are an important family in their own right, even without the title.”

 

“It’s such a wonderful name,” Gwen says. “This is such a beautiful part of the country.  It suits Morgana.”

 

“Yes,” Arthur says, smiling. “Perhaps a little too well. Here, these are the gates.”

 

The house is fantastic. The gables are two designs, both curling and elegant. There are great stone lions, beautiful lawns. Gwen holds tight to Elyan’s arm so she can look around. She nearly falls down the steps, but he steadies her, and then there Morgana is, coming out to greet them. Gwen beams, too pleased to see her, her heart thudding with excitement. 

 

“I apologise for inviting you to my house, then not being in residence,” Morgana says, taking Gwen’s hands. “I had some business to discuss with Morgause. I thought we might travel together?”

 

“Yes, I’d like that,” Gwen says. “This is a wonderful house.”

 

“It’s quite new, as well. It was begun in the 1500s, only completed recently. There is still some work being done, but we need not worry- it is quiet and out of sight. Would you like to rest?”

 

“No, show me around. Please. Do we need an escort, really?”

 

“I think not,” Morgana says. “Arthur?”

 

“Elyan isn’t letting Gwen out of his sight,” Arthur says. “He’s heard of Arundell’s reputation. Not from me! Please don’t glare at me!”

 

“Very well. But you’ll leave us be,” Morgana says, taking Gwen’s arm and sweeping them toward the gardens. “I will introduce you to our hosts later. Arundell is still taking lunch, and Morgause is away until this evening, they will not miss us. Tell me how you’ve been? How was the estate? Have you been happy?”

 

Gwen tells her all, and later, once Elyan and Arthur and Arundell and Morgause have all withdrawn, Morgana slips into her room, into her bed, and knits them together.

 

Enchantments: present

 

“Father, come now,” Arthur says, a frantic edge to his voice. 

 

“You will be quiet, Arthur! You know that it was witchcraft killed your dear innocent mother, my wife. Quiet, or I will let you hang with her.”

 

Gwen remains silent. There is nothing she can say. She’s already said it all. She’s pleaded, too, on her knees. But Uther is the law here, and he will shut her back into her room and take her to the court tomorrow, where she will be tried told how she will die. 

 

“Then I will go with her,” Arthur says. 

 

The frantic desperation has gone, leaving his voice calm and steady. Gwen can feel him at her side. 

 

“She has enchanted you, this is the proof,” Uther says. “Shut him up in his rooms, lock him in. Ensure he stays there.”

 

“One more word,” Arthur says. “Father, for my sake, one more word.”

 

“Go on,” Uther says. 

 

“Call Aredian. He is witchfinder to the king himself. If I am indeed enchanted, and if your recent bad luck is truly due to the darkness of a devil-marked soul, then I would have that person responsible punished,” Arthur says. “I want to ensure we have the right person, to be sure that our safety is certain.”

 

“Well said,” Uther says. “Good, we will call Lord Aredian, and he will pronounce this lady a witch.”

 

“She is a lady indeed,” Elyan says, incensed though mostly, up till now, mute. “My father will hear of this, and so will the king, and you will rue the day you accused the lady Gwenevere, Uther Pendragon. And you! Arthur. From this day, your name is poison to me.”

 

“It buys us time,” Arthur says, still calm and steady. “My father is gone, Gwenevere. We are alone, until the guards come to take you.”

 

“Buys us time,” Elyan spits. “You’re no better than he is. Poison, Arthur. You poison everything you touch, it withers and dies.”

 

Elyan leaves with a last curse. Gwen looks up into Arthur’s face. 

 

“I am sorry,” Arthur says. “I should have suggested father called Aredian sooner. However, your brother is a genius but he cannot see through the veil of his love for you. He won’t forgive me this. Especially as my father is correct- Aredian will merely concur with his findings. You will be hanged. Time, though. It gives us time.”

 

“For what?” Gwen asks. 

 

“That I do not know,” Arthur says. 

 

“Write to Morgana.”

 

“I already have. She has no more idea than I,” Arthur says. “She plans to raise an army and storm the Camelot estate and free you, carrying you back to Tintagel and readying for a siege.”

  
  


the finding: present

 

Gwen has never really bothered to observe Uther closely, he’s had such little impact on her life. She’s heard Elyan talk about him, and seen the damage to Arthur, but never really watched him. Now she observes minutely, watching his every move, every twitch, every expression. What she finds, to her surprise, is a weak man. A bully, to be sure, but a weak, scared man. He tries to protect himself, ineffectual and pathetic, with cruelty. Tries to make others afraid. But he has no strength, no real conviction, and there isn’t substance there. 

 

When Aredian arrives, all of Uther’s weaknesses are put clearly on display. Uther is Aredian’s gull and Aredia knows just how to pull the strings. He identifies Uther’s fears within minutes, plays up to them, pretends to share them, then offers a solution and a protection, offers his strength. He pretends to bow to Uther and give before his judgements, but every time there’ll be a small ‘but’ and a few words and Uther will end up agreeing with Aredian, having his mind changed in tiny increments so he thinks it’s what he’s always thought. 

 

Arthur offers Aredian his strength, but it’s weakness Aredian want. Weakness that he plays on. He can’t gull Arthur quite so thoroughly, so he compliments him and then dismisses him. Gwen sits demurely in her chair this whole time, as Aredian is introduced and does his little show, gets his puppets in order and prepares his stage. He wants money, which means he’ll come up with a few suspects, and draw out the process. Arthur’s right, this is buying them time. 

 

Time for what, though, is still unclear. Arthur has been doing something, and Elyan’s been sitting with her and they’ve been pouring over their options, but so far it seems to her that all they’ve come up with is to go along with Morgana’s plan. Escape, abduction, laying siege, battle. And killing Uther, but Arthur had looked rather green when Elyan had said that, and Gwen is pretty sure that that had been Elyan’s intent. 

 

Arthur and Elyan haven’t been getting along. Elyan refuses to forgive Arthur for having Aredian pulled in. Arthur refuses to explain himself properly, refuses to talk about it, refuses to defend himself. He just agrees. Gwen is half convinced he has a plan, but Elyan says he’s just bumbling along in the dark. And Elyan has known Arthur a long time, and rather intimately, so Gwen is inclined to believe him. 

 

“Perhaps we could buy him off,” Gwen suggests, that night, locked in her room. Elyan’s in with her, having climbed in the window, across the balconies. She’s still stuck at the Pendragon estate, and Elyan seems intent on being stuck with her. He tells her their father writes letters, but she’s seen little effect.

 

“I don’t think we could bribe him,” Elyan says. “Even Arthur would have thought of that.”

 

They go over and over, but they have no answers, no options. Then the next day, Aredian calls everyone into the dining room. Gwen stands, trembling a little, just a little. She can’t help being afraid of Aredian. Elyan stands beside her, and Arthur stands a little in front, before his father, defiant and deferential at the same time. He glances back at her and smiles. 

 

“I have testimony to present, Uther,” Aredian says. 

 

“I am listening,” Uther says. 

 

Aredian’s men bring forward a terrified looking woman. Gwen doesn’t recognise her, but Elyan steps forward, so he must. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, reaching out to stop Elyan. Elyan glowers, but stills.

 

“What’s your name?” Uther asks. 

 

“Mary, sir. I work in the kitchen.”

 

“Here?” Uther asks, surprised. 

 

“Father, she’s worked here three years,” Arthur says. 

 

“Oh. As you say. I leave the running of the house to others. What have you to tell me?”

 

“I see faces, in the water, sir. When I go out to break the ice in the morning, at the pump, when I draw from the well, at the pond. Screaming, white faces, sir.”

 

The door opens, then, and the girl screams, shaking hands held out before her. Morgana sweeps into the room. Arthur curses, rather colourfully. Gwen smiles, though. Morgana brings comfort, with just her presence. She looks Gwen over, raises an eyebrow. Gwen nods. She’s alright, all things considered. Morgana smiles gently, and turns to Uther, raises her hand. Uther flinches a little. 

 

“Stop this,” Morgana says. “I believe I should have been invited, Uther. Your own daughter.”

 

“My ward,” Uther corrects. “You aren’t welcome here anymore.”

 

“Ah. Yes, I remember. You threatened to have me executed, as well,” Morgana says. “I am here, I will be staying. You will accept me as guest, or I will use the knowledge I have gathered since my… banishment. I have been far, Uther, to track down my… family history.”

 

There’s silence. Arthur shakes his head, and Elyan grins, leaning in to whisper to Gwen. 

 

“She’s got style,” Elyan says. 

 

“Do we have an understanding?” Morgana asks. 

 

“Yes,” Uther says, a little hoarse. 

 

“Good. Do carry on,” Morgana says. 

 

She stands next to Arthur, in front of Gwen. Elyan squeezes Gwen’s arm. Aredian ignores the drama, and has his next witness dragged in. She testifies to goblins, and then a last to a sorcerer spitting toads. Morgana snorts softly at the last, and tosses her head, bending to mutter something to Arthur that makes him choke trying to stifle his amusement. 

 

“As you see, Uther,” Aredian says, ignoring them. “The sorcery you have discovered is tiny, in comparison. You are riddled with it, it is an epidemic. I can cure it. I have already identified a source. He is standing in our midst. The boy, Merlin.”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur says. Then, “Merlin, come here.”

 

A slip of a man steps out of the crowd and comes to Arthur’s side. Arthur holds his shoulder, body shifting to shield him a little. 

 

“His manservant,” Elyan mutters to Gwen, frowning. “He’s fond of the boy.”

 

“I vouch for Merlin, he doesn’t practise the black arts. Father, he doesn’t even know his letters, he can’t read,” Arthur says. 

 

“I have found an amulet in his rooms,” Aredian says. “Two of your servants have witnessed him kneeling at fireplaces, speaking to the devil. One of the houseboys tells me he found the boy entwined lustfully with a demon.”

 

“That’ll have been Arthur,” Elyan whispers. 

 

“Entwined lustfully?” Gwen whispers back.

 

“I don’t begrudge him youthful exploits, Merlin’s been his man since they were both teenagers,” Elyan says. 

 

“Take him, then,” Uther says, waving a hand. “Lock him away, and we rout out the other vestiges.”

 

“Father,” Arthur whispers. 

 

“Arthur, if the boy worships the devil, surely you see I must punish him? Do not be… sentimental.”

 

Uther stalks from the room. Aredian’s men come and drag Merlin from Arthur’s grip, and Gwen is shown back to her room. She’s left alone for almost half an hour, then there’s a quick knock, and Morgana enters. She comes to sit on the bed next to Gwen and cups her face, examining her. Gwen allows it, submitting to the hold, the careful touch, the intense look. Morgana gazes into her eyes for a while. 

 

“You are well?” Morgana whispers.

 

“Well enough,” Gwen replies, her own voice coming out soft and strained.

 

“I had to speak with Uther, and do what I could for Merlin, or I’d have come up. Arthur’s a little upset. I think it may heal whatever’s between your brother and him, though: Elyan’s at his side.”

 

“Good. How are you here? Why are you here? Why didn’t Uther throw you out?”

 

“I’m his daughter. I subtly threatened to tell everyone. I’ve known for a while, my mother told Morgause, before she died, and Morgause told me.”

 

“And how are you here?”

 

“Arthur wrote, when Aredian started pressuring the staff. He was afraid that I would be needed to mount a siege and carry you off after all. I will do so, if it comes to it. Do not be afraid, Gwenevere. I will keep you safe, my lady.”

 

Morgana slides from the bed and onto her knee, bowing her head, holding Gwen’s hand in both her own. She presses a kiss to the palm and looks up, earnest and solemn. Gwen gets a hand in her hair, cupping her head, and draws up her again, to lean, to press close, to steal a kiss. Gwen gives, laying back, Morgana following. She sighs, though, and turns her head on the pillow.

 

“I am afraid, Morgana,” Gwen admits. “Afraid, and tired, and betrayed.”

 

“I will keep you safe,” Morgana says, wrapping her in her arms, pulling her close. “I will protect you, I will. I will take you far away as soon as I am permitted, and you can stay with me, in Tintagel.”

 

“I’d like that, but my father. My brother.”

 

“Arthur will care for Elyan, and he will always be welcome. He’s a young brash man, he’ll be safe from accusations of witchcraft, especially if he and Arthur manage to balance things and keep in Uther’s good books. Arthur is a good diplomat, when he cares to be. Your father might come with us, if he likes. He should also be safe, however. He’s a lord, well liked at court. If he comes with us… I am always in need of good smiths, I have much need for iron”

 

“For your spells,” Gwen says, smiling, turning back to Morgana, kissing her. “Your scary, black magic, and your lustful entwinements with the devil.”

 

“Lust is no sin, despite what the bible says. Desire, I prefer to name it. Desire, and love, and heat,” Morgana says. “Perhaps not with the devil, though. Lucifer and the angels are far, far too masculine for my tastes.”

 

Gwen feels better, having Morgana close, having Morgana naked and ‘entwined’. They have to dress quickly, though. Gwen has little privacy these days, and if it’s not Uther’s men or Aredian’s, it’s Arthur and Elyan checking on her. They sit side by side on the bed, and Morgana embraces Gwen, telling her quietly about the sea, about the castle, about the walks she’s been taking. She also talks about patronage, and who she’s bestowing it on these days. She just talks, soothing, familiar, stroking Gwen’s hair. They’re still curled together when Arthur and Elyan come in. 

 

“Merlin’s been released. His guardian admitted to owning the amulet,” Arthur says. 

 

“Gaius is no more a magician than I am,” Elyan mutters. “He’s a good man.”

 

“I know. I admit to prefering him behind bars to Merlin,” Arthur says. “You two are alright?”

 

“Yes,” Morgana says. “Quite alright.”

 

“Morgause is close?” Arthur asks. 

 

“Of course,” Morgana says. 

 

“Good. I don’t think I know of a way to… time is no use when I cannot find a strategy,” Arthur says. 

 

“If you run, I will come with you, with father,” Elyan says to Gwen. 

 

Confession: present

 

“Confess!”

 

Aredian’s voice booms around the room, setting Gwen’s nerves on edge. Morgana’s got hold of her hand, though, and Elyan’s right on her other side, and Arthur’s once again stood just a little in front of their little group. 

 

“I confess!” Gaius cries. He looks terrible. Thin, with blood and bruises, dirty, hair matted. “I confess.”

 

“You have used magic, called up spirits, communed with the devil?” Aredian says. 

 

“No. I have not. But I have witnessed it. That amulet was a gift to Merlin, from his young lady, the lady Gwenevere. I have seen her, with goblin servants at her side. It was she that the houseboy saw Merlin entwined with, and within her the demon spirit. I have seen her. I will give my testimony to the court, I saw her, I saw her! Witch!”

 

Gaius points dramatically at Gwen. Arthur turns, dull horror in his eyes, and guilt. Apology. 

 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers. “They used Merlin to manipulate him.”

 

Elyan fights, but Morgana and Arthur do not. Arthur stands by, looking numb. Gwen looks for Morgana, but Morgana is gone. Gwen is dragged away, out of the estate, a swarm of men around her. She’s thrown into a cell and left there, all the light shut out, left in the dark with the acrid smell of piss and worse. Decay. 

 

Gwen draws herself into a corner, shaking hard, wraps her arms around her knees, and tries to be brave. 

 

Castles: past

 

Gwen watches the women casting spells, speaking in black tongues, kneeling to conjure. The thunder and rain and flashing lights around them, the demons look real, Medea and Faustus face to face, Medea’s children between them. Mephistopholes rises from Medea herself, taking over the woman, and the thunder dies away. Medea/Mephistopholes seduce Faustus, take her soul. 

 

Gwen stands to cheer, when the play ends, beaming at Morgana. She catches sighs of Elyan looking horrified, and Arthur off to the side, reading letters, paying no attention. Gwen, though, ignores them, and flings herself into Morgana’s arms. Morgana embraces her, laughing warmly. 

 

“My playwright will be most pleased by your reaction, Gwen,” Morgana says. 

 

“That was incredible. I’ve never seen women on stage, before. Why, the are far superior to the players my father had last summer,” Gwen says. Then, without turning, sensing him. “Go away, Elyan.”

 

“Gwen, we need to leave. This isn’t natural, or good, this is bad. I must write to father, and we must depart,” Elyan says. 

 

“Elyan, they are women,” Arthur drawls. “What possible harm could they do, weak and womanly as they are? Come, look over this for me.”

 

“Stop it, I’ve indulged you enough,” Elyan says. “Both of you. I care not if this is real, or fantasy, or some kind of womanly… wile. I care not. It cannot be reported that the lady Gwenevere… Gwennie, Gwennie.”

 

“I know,” Gwen says, turning to him, hearing his fear. “I know, I take the risk willingly. Knowingly. I care not.”

 

“Then, I will do as I can, and stand by you,” Elyan says. He takes her hands, shuts his eyes a moment, then turns on his heel and stalks away. 

 

“Overplayed that one a little,” Arthur says, making a face, then he grins and bounces to his feet, about to take off after Elyan. “That thunder is quite something, Morgana. And Gwenevere’s right, the acting was really very good.”

 

“As if we care what he thinks,” Morgana says, as Arthur jogs after Elyan’s stiff back. “Your brother isn’t wrong, Gwen. These plays are hardly looked on without censure.”

 

“Then I will be censured,” Gwen says. “I would risk the world to see such wonders.”

 

“You may be risking just that. But as you wish. Shall we walk? We can talk to the players and my playwright later. For now, shall we go listen to the waves?”

 

Gwen clasps Morgana’s hand, and talks excitedly about the play, unable to stem her enthusiasm. Morgana listens, delighted that Gwen has enjoyed herself. 

 

Revelation: present

 

Gwen aches. She’s tired, beyond what she thought possible. She hasn’t been allowed to sleep, she’s had water thrown over her and light flooding in to blind her at irregular intervals. Gifts from Aredian, she thinks. She’s also bruised, her hair matting against the blood of a wound there, her eyes swollen. She just aches, inside and out. 

 

When the door opens, flooding the cell with light, she just closes her eyes wearily and waits for whatever’s happening next. She’s gripped by strong hands and dragged outside. She hasn’t been out in a long time, what feels like a long time. The breeze against her skin hurts, and she cries out, unable to help herself. The wind rises a little, and she feels it gentler, softer, almost a caress. It whispers ‘hush’. 

 

She’s put in the stocks on a wagon. She opens her eyes now and then and recognises her surroundings- she’s being taken back to the estate, back to Uther. She remembers mention of a court and wonders when that will happen. If it will be the Old Bailey, the mirror, the audience. The wagon comes to a stop and Gwen prises her eyes open. She’s been stopped in a circle of people, and right in front of her is Elyan, weeping openly, gazing at her in horror. Arthur is nowhere to be seen. 

 

Nor is Morgana. The wind comes up again as Gwen thinks that, soothing and shushing her. Gwen sighs at it’s gentle touch, the raw flesh of her wrists stinging but still soothes, still comforted. She’s bent, her back aching, her thighs and calves strained, the bruises throbbing. Her stomach feels tender, like it might rebel any moment, and her mouth is so dry, her tongue feels twice it’s usual size. 

 

“We are here to sentence this witch! The black serpent, who worships the devil and commits his works on our good earth!” 

 

Gwen turns her head a tiny bit and sees Uther, back straight. At his side, Arthur. Tears start into Gwen’s eyes. There’s not enough moisture to fall. Arthur smirks at her, winks, and then his head tips forward in a slow, lolling way, then tips back. He opens his mouth and lets out a wail, trembling hard all over, then collapsing and spasming wildly, wailing the entire time. Gwen’s dulled mind can’t grasp what’s happening, but Uther seems to have no such trouble. 

 

“See! See what she does to my boy!” Uther cries, falling to his knees at Arthur’s side.

 

“What she does?” Arthur rasps, wail stopped. “What the lady Gwenevere does? It is not Gwenevere, Uther. She has no power over this magic that you are so, so afraid of. Arthur gives himself willingly to me, as you always knew he would.”

 

Merlin steps out of the crowd, head tilted to one side, smiling. He has a hand raised, and his eyes, his eyes shine gold, and flash fire. He snaps his wrist and Arthur rises from the ground, walking somnolent, feet dragging. He comes to the stocks and releases them.

 

“Stand, Gwen. It is time to leave,” Merlin says. Arthur says. One of them speaks. 

 

Elyan’s there, helping her to stand, whispering comfort to her. The wind is there, too. And Uther’s men. The circle of people close around them. Merlin, Arthur, Elyan and Gwen. They can never fight off the crowd. There are too many. 

 

“Trust,” Elyan whispers, pressing a hand over her heart, holding her. “Trust in this.”

 

_ Morgana _ , Gwen thinks. 

 

And then she comes. From the house, breaking the crowd, wind and fire about her, hair streaming in the currents of the air. Her eyes, too, are golden. She opens her arms wide and brings them together, air and dust and sunshine and earth bursting around her, and she laughs. 

 

“What fear there is in all of you, I see you tremble. This is not devil’s work, this is power. Pure, elemental power, and who gives power to the elements? It is not devil’s work, but God’s. The majesty of the heavens on earth, the might of Jesu who walked and turned water to wine. What power is that? Devil’s? No, that was God-given-might!”

 

Gwen steps down from the wagon and goes to Morgana. She’s embraced, by the wind and elements and Morgana, by Morgana. There’s a great whoosh, and they walk away. Gwen’s shaking too hard, though, and stumbles. The wind calms her panic, and Morgana lifts her, carrying her, holding her close like a child. 

 

Gwen passes from consciousness, cheek against Morgana’s shoulder. When she wakes, she’s in a warm kitchen, still in Morgana’s arms. They’re sat on a small cot, Morgana’s legs bracketing Gwen’s body. 

 

“I took what I could of their memory. I left your speech, but not who gave it, and some remnants of magic,” Merlin’s saying. “I gave some to Aredian, and some to Morgause. I’m sorry, Morgana, but she’s already beyond the law and I didn’t want Aredian saying those lovely things.”

 

“Elyan’s gone for Tom, no one will hurt him,” Arthur says. “I think I can talk father around to believing that Gwen is innocent, but I cannot promise and I think it would be best if she goes with you to Tintagel. Tom, as well. If the king hears of this… a suspicion of witchcraft is one thing, being released by magic is quite another. Elyan and I will be safe enough.”

 

“I will keep them so. As is my job,” Merlin says. 

 

“You will serve me till the day you die,” Arthur scoffs. “Heavens, Merlin, you couldn’t have just said something?”

 

“Oh yes, obviously. Arthur, how nice to see you what a nice day, I am off on a magical quest. What? Devil worship? Your father says all who practise dark arts are demons and evil spirits? Well, not me. Nope, I’m just Merlin, I’m happy and innocent and skipping through daisie-”

 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur grumbles. 

 

Gwen turns her head into Morgana’s body, and tunes them out, listening to the beat of her heart, instead. Morgana soothes her, holding her tighter, stroking her hair. Gwen sleeps again. 

 

Rights: present-future

 

It’s a week before Gwen is out of bed much beyond relieving herself and sitting by the window. Morgana takes a long route to Tintagel, and by the time they arrive, Arthur and Merlin have left them. Gwen makes her slow way down to the kitchen and finds warmth by the fire, sitting there and holding her hands out to it. 

 

“I thought I might find you here. Warmest place in the house,” Morgana says, coming in. “I have sent the servants away for the day.”

 

“Why?” Gwen asks.

 

“I thought you might like the house to yourself.”

 

“Sit with me?”

 

“How are you?” 

 

Morgana sits at Gwen’s side and cards through her hair, gently un-knotting it. She’s been working on it all week, doing a little a day, washing it, untangling it, oiling it, and putting it in plaits. She’s almost done. Gwen enjoys Morgana’s hands, her skin, her breath, her closeness. 

 

“I am tired,” Gwen says, letting her eyes fall shut. “I ache.”

 

“Inside or out, today?”

 

“In.”

 

“Hmm. I shall heat some wine for you, and find the lyre you enjoyed listening to, when you were last with us,” Morgana says. 

 

“Just sit, for a while.”

 

“For a while.”

 

Morgana teases and twists her hair, plying it into shape, coiling it up on Gwen’s head. When she’s done she heats the wine, hardly having to move. It’s hot and good, sharp, sweet. There’s a kick of spice that burns, but in a good way, warming Gwen inside out. It muzzes her head, but eases her heart a little. 

 

“I want to feel the sunshine,” Gwen says. 

 

Morgana helps her this time, to walk, and it is easier with Morgana’s arm around her. They stand before the house, on the grass, both barefoot, and look up. Bathing in the weak warmth. Morgana takes her hand and caresses her fingers, raising it to kiss her palm. 

 

“My lady Gwenevere, I will keep you safe,” Morgana says. 

 

“Yes,” Gwen says, trusting it, believing it. She rubs her breast bone. “Yes.”

 

Next they go to the music room. Morgana sets the strings humming with the lightest touch, barely there, and then sits with Gwen on the chaise, stirring the air with her fingers, Gwen reclining against her, music filling the room. Without a player. Merely the wind, Morgana’s slight movements, the magic. 

 

“God’s might and power,” Gwen murmurs. 

 

“I believe in it. God given,” Morgana murmurs back.

 

“I, too, then. I believe in you,” Gwen says. 

 

It’s Morgana who touches her breast above her heart, this time. 

 

“I’ve seen you do it,” Morgana whispers. 

 

“Trust,” Gwen says. 

 

“In me,” Morgana whispers. “I am astounded, you are glorious.”

 

“I am nothing. You are the one with God’s might.”

 

“And you are the one I love, the one who guides and loves and- you are everything. To me, you are everything.”

 

Gwen twists, and takes Morgana’s mouth, and bares her. The entwine on the chaise, clothes about them, bare skin warmed by breezes from the lyre, by the music, by each other. Heat between them, and everything comes like it’s natural. God’s might, God’s power, God’s love. Their might, their power, their love. 

 

~fin~


End file.
